Information
by Ophidiophobia
Summary: A fifteen-year-old Barnaby Brooks Jr. is desperate to apprehend his parents' murderer and to destroy the organization responsible, Ouroboros. He would do anything for new information, new leads, new progress - including becoming a prostitute for a night.
1. Chapter 1

_Maybe I should have practiced this more_.

The thought lit up in Barnaby's mind like an uncomfortable splinter. Every time his step faltered for just a moment in the buckled, platform boots. it would worry him. When the unforgiving leather of his shorts tightened and squeezed uncomfortably against his ass and he had to readjust his movement in an attempt to overcome it, it worried him. And every goddamn time someone in that shady joint looked his way and smirked, it worried him.

He had his Hundred Power, but he had never been trained how to use it, and in case there were members of Ouroboros watching, knowing that he had Hundred Power would eliminate his element of surprise when he took on the whole fucking organization for ruining his life. That was his only major advantage, and it was one that he was not going to let them have.

The knife in his right boot would probably be enough to keep him alive if something went wrong.

But what could possibly go wrong when you were posing as a fifteen-year-old boy hooker in the sketchiest bar in Sternbild?

Barnaby wasn't crazy. He was _desperate_.

For eleven years, he had done everything he knew how in order to avenge his parents' death. He had found out about an organization named Ouroboros that had a confirmedexistence in Sternbild's underground, and that had changed everything. Every day he searched. Every day he planned. And at night, when other boys his age were playing video games or texting their girlfriends or doing homework, he would _scheme_.

The fantasies in his head of how he would destroy them were endless. He wrote them in a book - a beat-up miniature leather journal that never left his back pocket unless he was writing something in it about how he would annihilate their every member, expose the ones he didn't kill to the public and simply roll in the joy of having them thrown into the nastiest prisons where they would waste away on death row with nothing to think about except what they had done. The only time he smiled was when he imagined his parents' murderer rotting in Hell, flames licking at his flesh and chipping away at his bones just as the fire had consumed everything Barnaby had known.

Something heavy, like a thick, unforgiving haze, settled around his shoulders and pressed in against his head. That sickening feeling of knowing he was being watched and examined, scrutinized and torn apart by one of these bastards in the bar made him nauseous, but the turmoil in his stomach had nothing to do with fear.

It was nothing but pure adrenaline.

He was careful to keep his head cocked to the side, seemingly naive and inviting. Every little toss of his head from one side to the other as he sweetly observed the not-so-sweet scenes around him sent his golden curls bouncing and twirling around each other in a sexy, intricate dance. Every flutter of his mascara-laden eyelashes sent hungry glances in his direction. And every little smirk of his lightly painted lips made the other whores jealous with a rage many of them had never felt. The women weren't used to competition from anyone, much less such a beautiful, delicious little boy. Of course it had every man in the joint hot and eager, needy and distracted from their usual conquests.

But that one particularly heavy feeling would not leave him.

"Why don't you sit down, little bitch, and I can buy you drink?"

All at once the feeling lifted, replaced by nothing but a smooth voice that was more comforting than any Barnaby had ever heard. He knew that was deceiving. He knew that the warm, temporary feeling of welcome and comfort he felt in the pit of his stomach was a lie. Barnaby was so close to politely declining the man's offer, turning around to give him a splendid view of that young, leather-clad ass, when he brushed dark hair away from his neck and Barnaby saw it. Behind his ear. The same tattoo of the murderer Barnaby fantasized about torturing.

This man was a member of Ouroboros.

The speed of Barnaby's heart increased twofold. His emerald eyes widened before he could control his reaction. This was exactly what he had wanted. Exactly what he had hoped for. He struggled to regain his calm, sexy facade, curling one corner of his lips up into a teasing smile as he took a seat at the next barstool.

"I think I'll pass on the drink." A pink, catlike tongue swept over Barnaby's lips as he batted his eyelashes and pretended to contemplate something significant as he looked the Ouroboros member up and down.

"Don't think I'll pass on you, though."

_Damn, I am making myself sick._

The man chuckled. It wasn't an unpleasing sound at all. The fact that Barnaby almost found it attractive repulsed him. The fact that the man reached out to briefly caress Barnaby's chin and jawbone with one finger repulsed him even more.

"You're cute. And new. I've never seen you before, little lamb."

A thick Russian accent clouded the clarity of his words, but his voice was so crisp and clean that Barnaby had no problem understanding him. The rest of the conversation was a blur. Barnaby kept his act up just enough to keep the man interested, but Barnaby also let his guard down just enough for him to become suspicious. There was some witty banter. A few shots of vodka were ordered. Some dirty flirting was exchanged. Somewhere along the way, Barnaby learned that the dark-haired man's name was Alexei. Judging by the way he was dressed - neatly, a perfectly crisp black suit, black shirt, and blood-red tie loosened just enough to allow a couple of buttons to come loose - he wasn't just a grunt.

Barnaby was sure that Alexei had information. And that was the reason he was dressed the way he was in those leather shorts almost too tight to walk in, matching leather boots, cute fingerless gloves with a sleeveless shirt just as tight as everything else on his body. He had even managed to obtain some elegant lingerie for the occasion, but with all the fucking lace and frills, it wouldn't fit beneath the leather that fit so perfectly against the curves of his skin. Any kind of underwear had been abandoned as an impossibility.

There was more prodding and teasing, flirting and caressing. Barnaby nearly vomited several times before he ended up in the lap of this man who could be his savior if only for the information he held. With the long, flexible legs he possessed at only fifteen, it was easy for Barnaby to wrap himself around his "target" just as he rested milky smooth, exposed arms around his neck. Their faces were so close; Barnaby could discern nothing but the dark abyss of the other's eyes, threatening to consume forever anything that looked their way.

Barnaby found a foreign, snakelike tongue darting out over his own perpetual smile, and before he knew it his lips were clashed together with Alexei's, the older man's tongue easily invading Barnaby's painted mouth and taking everything within for itself.

_There went my first kiss. Bastard._

It wasn't like Barnaby had been saving it for anyone else.

The time between breaking the kiss and Alexei helping him off the barstool was filled with fearful questions. This was it. Now or never. This man wanted everything - it was obvious. He didn't just want Barnaby. He wanted control. He wanted the world. He wanted everything to be his and his alone.

Barnaby wasn't sure how far he was willing to go to get this lead to talk to him. He wasn't saving himself for anyone, but there were still natural reservations.

What would his parents have said?

There was no more time to think about it.

He was thrust into a dark room towards the back of the bar.

Alexei followed, and the door was shut behind them both.


	2. Chapter 2

Barnaby was guided backwards in the dark, his eyes slower to adjust than he was comfortable with. He let himself be led, lured and trapped by this Russian bastard, not knowing where he was headed and blind in the unknown fear that swallowed him. The only thing that was real in that moment was the unfamiliar lips, thin but deceivingly soft and very, very needy. From Barnaby's mouth to his jawline and up to his ear, the serpent's tongue flicked, tasted, and explored.

Sweet nothings that seemed ominously out of place coming from Alexei smoothed over Barnaby's bright red ears, warm breath tickling and making the blonde's head tick a little to the side with each word.

"Precious little lamb, do you even know what you've gotten yourself into, coming here like this?"

Barnaby swallowed hard.

_No, I don't suppose I do._

He kept his thoughts to himself and replaced his worried emotions with a smile that made him look knowing and mischievous before raising one of his small, thin hands to caress Alexei's face. His fingernails, painted just for this occasion, were just long enough to scrape lightly along the Russian's skin in an attempt to make him shiver and fall deeper into that desire he held, letting down his guard and allowing Barnaby in. He wondered, as Alexei chuckled and leaned into his touch, if it would be possible to get any information out of him before allowing himself to be taken completely.

Regardless of whether or not it was _possible_, Barnaby was sure as hell going to _try_. He began returning Alexei's nips of affection, tilting the dark-haired head in his hands to plant soft little kisses up his neck and to the back of his ear. Barnaby's lips reached the tattoo, and he knew he had an opportunity.

"What's that supposed to be?" he asked sweetly, dumbly placing one finger on the tattoo and proceeding to drag it teasingly up and down Alexei's neck as he waited for an answer.

"Exactly what it looks like, little whore. A snake eating its tail."

Barnaby kept his face close to Alexei's and pressed his body up further into the other's where they sat on the edge of an old couch that had used to be plush but was now more lumpy than soft. "Yeah, but what's it _mean_, huh? I thought things like that were supposed to _mean _something. Does it?"

Alexei grimaced, his eyes darkening a tad. Bitches like this kid weren't supposed to ask questions like that. The Ouroboros couldn't decide if he found it amusing or frustrating. "Of course it does," he mumbled in an angry, muffled voice past Barnaby's lips and into his mouth.

This wasn't as easy as Barnaby had hoped it would be. He followed along with the movement of the man's lips, letting his own mouth be opened, moved, and explored, before nibbling lightly on Alexei's bottom lip and pulling away with a teasing grin that showed a hell of a lot more confidence than he was currently feeling. "Then _what_?"

A growl forced itself out from Alexei's lips and before Barnaby could react he was shoved down roughly onto the couch, one of the broken springs digging painfully into his back and one of Alexei's strong hands around his throat. "If you're going to dress like a slut, you should act more like one, _Junior_. You're not even _good _at playing dumb, and you're even worse at being a whore. I would expect more from a boy with a face like yours. Just like your mother's, too. Simply gorgeous. Much too pretty to be wasted on people like you."

Barnaby's emerald eyes lighted with a rage that Alexei had never seen in anyone but his associates. It was a different kind of anger though – not the emotion of someone insane, not the emotion of someone with nothing but a desire for death, but the feelings of someone who had been deeply hurt and forced down to live in that pain with no way out. The rage of someone who had been stewing in anger for years without a definitive source to pour his emotions into. The _hatred _of someone who had just found the target of an undefined, decade-long rage. Righteous anger. A vengeful _need_.

"You killed them," Barnaby hissed, his voice restricted by the unforgiving hand around his throat.

Alexei just laughed as he leaned over the blonde and forcefully tore the child's shorts down his legs with one swift movement of his hand.

"If I did, I wouldn't tell you, little lamb. From the way you're dressed, it's obvious you didn't come here for _information_. It's so _painfully _obvious that _this _is what you want, eh?"

Whatever sense of composure Barnaby had had left was gone. His savage cries and curse-laden screams were reduced to nothing but choked noises and spitting hisses. He couldn't breathe. Blood was rushing to his head. His windpipe was being crushed.

Two unlubricated fingers were pressed against his virgin entrance.

He was a mass of struggling, writhing, panicking limbs. Scratching, biting, nothing worked. Alexei was seemingly immune to all of it. If anything, it only _encouraged _him. He looked down at Barnaby and smiled almost lovingly at the teenager, just slightly loosening his grip around that delicate neck. "I suppose I should let you breathe. All the better to hear you _scream_."

And then the fingers were inside of him, stretching and exploring places no one had ever touched, _tearing _the sensitive tissue and lighting a fire inside Barnaby that made his back and hips arch high above the couch in an attempt to remove himself from the digits impaling him. "Screaming" wasn't exactly the proper word to describe the noises Barnaby forced from his mouth. _Shrieking _was more accurate.

"Oh, you _like _it, Brooks? All those cries just for me? You want _more_ of me inside you, filthy slut?"

A loud, desperate noise that meant "no."

And yet there was suddenly _more _inside him. How that was possible, Barnaby wasn't even sure. For a moment he thought he felt something slick among the burning pain that overtook every other sensation.

_Blood_, he realized. _It's my blood._

Alexei twisted and stroked inside his victim, searching as if to find what he could possibly rip and destroy, and he was finding quite a lot.

Barnaby's screams were gradually weakening as his vision darkened and his body grew weak from the physical exertion of the struggle. His vision was becoming unclear despite his glasses, and at times was so dark he could see nothing at all. The room spun around him as he tried to cope with the pain, and he was vaguely aware of the sharp sound of a zipper.

He needed to use his power.

But he couldn't.

They couldn't know. That was his one secret, his one advantage, his single trump card that he would need for the day he destroyed them all. They wouldn't even see it coming – their deaths would be so swift, so painful, a _hundred times _worse than any normal death could be.

The pain receded for a moment, and he found himself suddenly empty.

He couldn't use his power now. This wasn't the opportune moment. This wasn't the plan.

_Nothing is going as planned. _

Something foreign, something _larger _pressing against him.

_I can't stop Ouroboros if I'm dead. I'm about to be torn in half._

Alexei buried his cock as deep as he could into the little blonde whore.

Barnaby recognized the flash of blue that illuminated around his body as his power instinctively activating. Everything was beyond his control now. That pure, bright light and the shock on Alexei's face were the last two things that Barnaby's mind registered before it shut itself off completely.


	3. Chapter 3

He wasn't _afraid._

_Fear_ was a foreign concept to Alexei. However, when he saw that helpless little boy below him begin to glow bright blue, there was definitely a moment when his stomach twisted into a horrible, nervous knot.

He had not expected this – had not planned for it. Even now, he wasn't sure what to expect. What power did the boy have? What could he do? Was it offensive? Defensive? Useless? Dangerous? He had no way of knowing until...

Without any warning at all, the boy's hands came in contact with Alexei's chest. The impact easily knocked the breath out of him and sent him flying to the opposite side of the room, into the wall. He slumped to the ground with a groan, but before he could even open his eyes, the boy was there, lifting him off the ground by the collar of his blood-red shirt and hurling him to the floor again. The little blonde straddled his waist and as Alexei regained enough strength to struggle, he found that doing so was useless.

That was when he registered the next noise to knot his poor, suffering stomach.

Someone was banging on the back door. Loudly, harshly. "Police! Open the door!" He also managed to catch the French accent, even through the thick door and over the banging.

_Damn..._

The banging and yelling quickly fell into the background as he felt five cold, thin fingers wrap tightly around his throat, leaving him desperately gasping for air.

"It was _YOU_, wasn't it?" the child hissed, teeth bared, his grip tightening and threatening to snap the man's neck then and there.

Alexei remained silent, partially out of stubborn defiance and partially out of the inability to speak at the moment. Barnaby sneered at him and raised his head only to slam it back down against the carpeted floor. He continued to constrict his fingers around his neck more and more. "It _was_ you, you sick bastard," he snarled. The hate in his glowing eyes astounded the man. It ran deep and cold, chilling even the Russian to the bone in seconds. "_Why?_" the boy demanded, hitting his head forcefully against the ground again.

Even then, the murderer remained silent, glaring daggers at Barnaby.

Barnaby cried out in frustration, bringing his fist down in the carpet only inches from Alexei's head, cracking and caving in the concrete foundation beneath. "_Tell me why or I'll tear you apart!"_

Alexei struggled to shake his head, reaching up to pull at Barnaby's arm as hard as he could. The boy relaxed his hold only enough for the man to take a breath and speak. "Why would I waste my time on them?" he spat out angrily. "They did nothing but help us-"

"LIAR!" Barnaby roared, wrapping his free hand around the older man's right forearm and snapping it like a twig, relishing in the feeling of skin and muscle contorting, of bone shattering in his hand, basking in the look of shock and pain on the man's face. Alexei howled, and squirmed and bucked his hips, trying to throw the boy off, but Barnaby remained unphased. "YOU FUCKING LIAR! THEY WOULD _NEVER!_" He pressed down on Alexei's throat hard enough to have him seeing stars.

"This is the Sternbild Police! Open the door or we're breaking it down!" That banging would simply have to stop. It was driving him crazy...

When the boy relaxed his grip again, Alexei took in as much air as he could. "They didn't know," he heaved. "And _I _didn't kill them."

"Who did it then?" He was answered with forced silence. "TELL ME _WHO_!" Barnaby screamed at him, gripping his broken arm tightly. Alexei cried out, then bit his lip, trying so desperately to keep from Barnaby the satisfaction of making him scream.

Barnaby brought his face down closer to Alexei's. "I'll kill you if you don't tell me, you sick fuck," he murmured through clenched teeth. "I'll rip you to shreds and feed you to the dogs..."

"You won't do it. You've never killed before. I can see it in your eyes, little lamb..."

"Oh? Try me."

Alexei choked out a low laugh. "I'm not telling you shit, junior," he managed to spit out between coughs and gasps.

Barnaby's expression twisted from one of pure hatred to one of murderous intent. He grabbed Alexei's other arm. The man grimaced beneath him, but otherwise showed no sign of yielding or resisting. Barnaby scowled and began to tighten his grip. Just as he began to feel the man's bone giving way, just as he heard the first tiny crack, he watched as the blue glow began to fade. He could all but feel the strength seeping from his muscles and the reinforcement receding from his very bones. He saw Alexei's chest rise with a deep breath as his windpipe found some relief under the youth's now-weaker hand.

The look of realization and terror on his face must have been quite a sight, because even through the pain and lack of oxygen, Alexei grinned, eyes narrowing to predatory slits as he easily rolled the two of them over, pinning the boy to the floor with his left hand.

The banging on the door ceased briefly. Voices could be heard, and then gunshots – bullets hitting the metal lock. Someone rattled the still-locked handle, and then there were heavy thuds of boots hitting the wood, which was already starting to splinter. The door leading back out to the bar started to take a beating as well as a feminine voice called out, "Sternbild Police! Open up, already!"

"You really thought you would win, little lamb. How tragic," he purred. His lip pulled back in a smirk and he pulled back his arm, curling his hand into a tight, unforgiving fist, bringing it down on Barnaby's face once, twice, and almost a third time when he heard the door beginning to finally give way.

Alexei looked up with a displeased and pained sneer, then glared back down at Barnaby. With one hand, the boy covered his aching cheek. With the other, he reached quickly for one of his boots. He had the knife halfway worked out when Alexei punched him one last time in the stomach and stood. The boy curled into a tight ball, moaning and holding his abdomen.

Alexei leered down at him, reaching across himself and pulling a sleek, black handgun out of the holster hidden by his jacket. "It's been fun, Brooks," he growled, but was interrupted by the sound of the door beginning to give way to those assaulting it just as the other door was being unlocked, likely by the bartender.

The Russian looked down at the boy one more time and delivered a last kick into his back. Barnaby yelped and whimpered. Alexei took a moment to kneel down beside the boy and whisper in his ear. "I won't kill you yet. I'll let you live like this – miserable and ashamed and desperate." He twisted a finger in one of Barnaby's curls as the boy began to weakly sob. "Cultivate that hate of yours. Continue hunting and live your life with the intent to kill. Maybe then I'll come back for you." He stood then, leaving the boy a barely conscious mess of a human being on the floor.

Alexei waited beside the doorway to the front of the bar, gun ready in his hand. Almost simultaneously, the wooden back door finally gave way and fell, splintered and beaten, to the ground, revealing Sergeant Lucien Joubert and his favorite lackey, and the other door swung open to reveal a two more officers, both female, and the bartender. All four of them had guns pointed; however, they froze briefly when they saw they were pointing at their own comrades. Alexei used the confusion to his advantage and, deciding that taking the time to kill any of them could mean his own death, took off down the short hall into the main room, shoving past the female cops and the bartender on the way and cradling his injured arm close to his chest.

One of the female officers aimed at him, but stopped herself as he disappeared into the crowd. Lucien yelled orders into a radio and sent Brad hurrying to the front of the building.

The last thing Barnaby saw before finally losing consciousness was the French officer hurrying over and kneeling beside him. He could see his mouth moving, but couldn't quite make out the words as he closed his eyes and gave in to his pained, aching, abused body.

Outside of the bar, Alexei easily slipped past two more police officers and to his own car, parked in the back of the lot. Just before he started the car, a thought struck him. He worked his cellphone free of his pocket and dialed a number. He waited patiently through four or five rings, and then spoke to the answering machine as if speaking to nothing but air was nothing new.

"I'm sorry I'm late. I'm on my way home."


End file.
